


Using

by L56895



Series: Kinktober 2020 [9]
Category: Final Fantasy X-2
Genre: Anonymous Sex, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Prositution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L56895/pseuds/L56895
Summary: Slightly-AU, possibly OOC. Logos and Ormi have a job for one of their least willing goons.
Relationships: Nooj/Paine (Final Fantasy X-2)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952539
Kudos: 1





	Using

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for ages and after replaying and hearing that ‘that it up with the boss’ line again the idea fully formed. Today’s prompt was technically Anonymous Sex, but I suppose this is another loose interpretation.

As they made their final preparations to infiltrate Leblanc’s Chatheux, Paine tried not to let the familiarity of everything distract her. The uniforms still felt the same- Leblanc had always liked the softer fabrics- and she squirmed uncomfortably beneath the silk. She hadn’t had the courage to tell the others about the spare uniform, discarded by her nearly two years ago in a nook on the Moonflow; likely still there, although weathered by months of exposure to the elements. She had stuffed it there one dreary night, finding only comfort in the stiff leathers and belts that made up her warrior’s garb, tasting only betrayal on her tongue.

For all her protests, Paine had to admit that Leblanc had been fine to her people. Far better, in comparison, than the Maesters and the temples. She had been fair, although flighty and prone to dramatics, and fed them all well. After months of running after the Crimson Squad fell, hungry and alone, Paine had found it easy to succumb to a comforting hand on her shoulder and words of promise and safety. Like the rest of what she had come to unaffectionately call Leblanc’s ‘goons’, Paine had felt a debt of gratitude to the woman who had taken her in, looked after her when it felt like the whole of Spira was an enemy. Broken-hearted, still sore from a poorly healed gunshot wound, she had been searching for somewhere to feel safe, to belong. The Calm hadn’t brought a home to everyone.

Despite it all, though, Paine let the bitterness wash over her and she shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. She was dreading going back there. The chateaux had not been a place of safety in the end, not for her, although not for the obvious reasons.

On her last day there, she had made the mistake of going the long way back to quarters, past the rooms of Leblanc’s more prized pets, and had been intercepted by Ormi, who ushered her in to a side passage conspiratorially. Logos had been leaning up against the wall, picking at his finngernails and avoiding looking at her. Paine had recognised him on her first day from Maester Kinoc’s entourage, Ormi too, and had spent most of her time refusing to acknowledge the connection. She had felt the feeling was mutual. The fact that they had sought her out could only spell trouble.

“The boss has a new guest. Some real big shot guy. She asked us twos to look after him while she was gone.”

“Okay?” Paine said curtly. While she might owe a touch of gratitude to Leblanc, she had always found Ormi and Logos to be difficult, borderline creepy, and she avoided engaging them as much as possible.

“Well, we need you to... to you know.” Ormi shifted awkwardly, rocking from foot to foot in a way she recognised as a combination of nerves and embarrassment. “Well-“

“Use your feminine charms on him,” Logos interrupted impatiently, raising his eyebrow at her.

It wasn’t a particularly shocking proposal, all things considered. In the sleeping quarters the other women would occasionally come back with stories of entertaining someone who Leblanc deemed hugely important. Stories of blowjobs and spanking and ropes and muttered perversions acted out willingly for the chance to gain favour in the syndicate. Part of the job, they said. Keep the big guys happy, keep the boss happy. Paine had always assumed they found her too severe to even ask, too unbending to be of any real use in that respect. It was strange that they’d ask now, when there were so many girls willing to enact Leblanc’s favours for a little bit of extra good will.

“Why me?”

The look that passed between them did not go unnoticed.

“He seems... difficult.”

“Yeah. Bit of a crackpot. The other girls say he’s got a bit of a vibe.”

“So what makes you think I won’t say the same thing?”

“You’ve got a vibe too.”

She had glared but conceded; she hadn’t bonded with any of the other girls who luxuriated around the place, hadn’t let anyone else in. In fact, the anonymity of their uniforms was one of their big perks. Indistinctive, a way to disappear in to the background and be unnoticed by everyone else. But she extended that attitude to her private time too, ate alone and spoke very little, taking on lone assignments that required a bit of skill with a weapon and very little more. If they wanted someone abrupt and perfunctory, they asked her. Whoever this guy was, she wasn’t the girl for the job.

“Well? You would be handsomely rewarded by the boss...”

“No.”

“You need a little practice?” Logos raised an eyebrow at her and she recognised the threat, had seen how the men pawed at the girls who had fallen out of favour. How they found themselves unceremoniously moved to mixed dormitories, quiet and meek at dinner. How well would she fare thrown in to a room with men who just wanted to use her for a bit of relief. If they tried she’d have to kill them, and she’d be out on the street again; only this time with another organised group on her tail. No, there was no real choice. Not really. And if she conceded here then an evening spent pretending to be separate from her own body was a small pride to pay. She’d done it before, after all.

“Fine but I’m not pretending to have a good time.”

Logos waved a hand at her vaguely.

“He hasn’t spoken a word to us, only grunted like an animal, I doubt he will care. Just lie back and think of something else.”

Trying to muster up a feeling of disgust and coming up empty- Paine had wondered when she had last felt something, probably waking up screaming in a narrow cot in the Mi’hen travel agency- she shrugged. What did it matter now? She’d given her body to someone she thought had loved her and all it gave her back was pain. Why not give it to someone she didn’t know and take away the risk? Nooj had been the last person she had been with, so achingly fresh in her memory, and she longed for some other memory to replace him with. Some other hands roaming her body so she didn’t feel so keenly, completely, his.

She’d never been in the room the others used to entertain guests- a sharp right turn before Leblanc’s own chambers- but by all accounts it was as garish as the rest of the public face of the building. Leblanc tended to leave a waft of perfume behind wherever she went and decorate with far more purple than Paine thought was necessary. From the whispered conversations she had overheard, entertaining ranged from listening to a weeping man confess with their heads in laps to being slammed in to pillows and mounted by men who craved power in a world that had relieved them of it. The last man to do that to her had been Nooj- touched her and acted like he craved her when she was just a stop gap before he moved on. Before he put a bullet in her to get rid of her. Had it been any different, really? At least this time she knew she was being used. She stepped up the staircase slowly, ignored the way the sentries watched her and whispered as she passed. Whoever he was, could he be that bad?

The guard at the door stepped aside as she approached, gave her a nod.

“Good luck,” he muttered. Paine stepped through the doorway, let her eyes adjust to the low lighting, and felt her knees go weak.

If she had expected Nooj to be sat there, it had been an unconscious thought, and the sight of him made her feel sick. Fate could surely not be so cruel. And yet there he sat, angled slightly away from the door so that he was in profile, a taunt from a higher power she had stopped believing in long ago. He had changed in the time since she last saw him- advancing on her with a gun on the Highroad- had grown thinner, face drawn. How much time had passed? A few months? Yet time had aged him badly and for a moment she let a wave of sorrow wash over her at the cut of his cheeks and the way his hand was quaking at the top of his cane. He looked at her as if he didn’t know her- of course he did, her uniform covered her from head to toe- but she thought she saw a flicker of something cross his face. De ja vu maybe? A brief moment where he might realise. She was holding her breath, waiting. Then he waved her in to the room and the spell broke.

Nooj. Here.

If he recognised her what would he do? Finish the job of killing her? Mock her for how far she had fallen? It would be no use protesting. No use arguing that she was here to cleanse herself of him, to claw back some semblance of control- _use me, but be honest about it. Use me and let me use you._ Pathetic. He would take her pride, the last cell of her being that she still had control over. He could never know.

But he would be sure to if she turned away. Logos and Ormi would confront her, would see the connection and make some comment. She realised, painfully, that they may have already done so. Had sent her here because they thought the common ground would make him more amenable. But nothing made Nooj amenable, not even her.

No, if he wanted anonymity, a faceless moment of release, she would give it and make her escape. Their last moment together burned in her mind. She had been happy, relieved to still have him after the betrayal of the Maesters. Her naïveté was sickening. She could claw back some control, purge the memory and replace it with one that was as sordid and rotten as their whole relationship had been. Let their last moment be one she knew was tainted, instead of the cloying, happy vision she had of him thrusting in to her in the dust of the Highroad.

Back in their Crimson Squad days he had explored every inch of her, with his hands and his eyes and his lips, knew every scar and blemish and curve of her like she knew of him. Except one, she supposed, the bullet wound in her chest that he had given her himself. The fabric of her uniform was her protection, whatever he wanted from his anonymous entertainer she would have to do fully clothed. It wasn’t difficult, she thought back on their early days when he had refused to bare himself to her, too consumed by shame at the scars that lashed his body, and the creative ways she had learnt to please him. They had finally succumbed to the temptation to explore each other together, admiring one another in the moonlight after weeks of wondering. Long after Paine had already become adept at pleasing him with her hands and her tongue and he the same.

Enough. Sentimentality was for the weak. She had a job to do before she got out.

As part of the syndicate uniform, their faces were covered by a sort of sheer fabric, curtained over their features. She could pull it aside enough, without risking him getting a glimpse of her face, and she made her decision; crossed the room to crouch between his thighs. He said nothing, simply shifted in his chair as she reached to undo the front of his own clothes, and grunted his approval. The arrogance! She flushed red with anger but said nothing, not daring to look up. The low light offered some protection, but he was astute.

She touched him, slowly, running her hand along the length of him until he was hard against her palm. This close to him, she could smell the thick stench of oil and alcohol on his body, a far cry from what she remembered; she took him in her mouth quickly, rid herself of thoughts and left nothing else but the mechanics of pleasuring him, a habitual movement of her mouth against him.

In the past she had enjoyed this, enjoyed the feel of his hands in her hair and the soft words of encouragement he gave her when she took him in her mouth and pleasured him with her lips. Enjoyed the sound of his breath quickening, the feel of a pulsing on her tongue and then the taste of him filling her. It had been something intimate and savoured, bolstered her that she could make him feel that way. And reciprocated, always, with his hands or his tongue on her in the quiet nights of their Crimson Squad training. Bitterly, she thought of the ridiculousness of asking him to reciprocate now. _You killed me, but I’m still here. Still warm and longing and kneeling here. Make me feel something. Please._

But this was nothing like then. He kept his hands on the arms of the chair, said nothing, had made nothing other than a brief groan when she held his shaft and began, taking him completely in her mouth. Where in the past he had been ready for her, hard inside her and thrusting against her, in that dark room she felt him soften in her mouth, her usual movements failing.

“I can’t.” His voice came out hoarsely, the first time he had spoken, she realised. She withdrew but still could not face him, although she could sense him turning away, his body twisting painfully in the chair. There was a moment of strained silence, and she risked raising her eyes to look at him finally.

“Leave me,” he whispered, turning his head away from the light. She watched him carefully, her palms still splayed against his thighs; caught in an eternal moment of confusion. Finally, he looked down at her again, face set in a painful grimace. “Leave. Me.”

She scrambled to her feet, scooting back from him first so that she could push herself to her feet out of the direct glow of the lamp. He wasn’t watching her, though, she was already gone from his mind, his hand reaching to register his clothing.

Her hand was braced on the doorframe before she heard him moan her name quietly. Not a sound of recognition but a painful sob and she risked a glance back at him. He was doubled over in the chair, face pressed in to his hands and she swore she saw his body heave. Nooj didn’t weep. And yet he did. And he wept her name. Fighting the urge to go to him like her younger self, she fled the room, ignoring the yells of the sentry on the door, and hurried back to the sleeping quarters.

“Ah, you!” She was interrupted in the underground passages again, although this time Logos reached for her arm as she passed.

“Get off of me!” She snatched her arm away, glared at him as he shifted awkwardly. “I did what you asked. He sent me away. Now leave me alone.”

“He sent you away? Oh, good.” The relief on Ormi’s face as he rounded the corner was palpable and she shuddered.

“Good?”

“We seem to have had a little... misunderstanding. It seems this particular... guest... is someone the boss is interested in in a... well... a more romantic way than others. We feared she might be a little upset were we to send someone in to... see to him.”

Paine felt herself go cold.

“Yeah!” Ormi stepped forward, braced his fists on his hips, “Looks like he’ll be around a lot more than the usual guys so itsa good thing you won’t be embarrassed, ay?”

She hadn’t stayed to hear the rest. Had faced the prospect of seeing him again, of wondering what it had meant when he moaned her name and had fled, heels clipping on the stone path until she was thrusting her measly belongings in to a bag and creeping, quickly, to the front of the chateaux. No one had seen her, no one had stopped her. But she had run until she was on the Moonflow, finding a crevice to hide in and strip, replaced the purple silk with her familiar leathers and drank desperately from the water there. Had not stopped to rest, properly, until she had made the crossing and there was an expanse of water between her and Guadosalam. Then, she had collapsed, sobbing in the grass that lined the Moonflow road path and slept, fitfully, until morning.

It was a time she refused to think about, although it haunted her.

Going back had never been part of any plan. Not when she was dragged back in to Leblanc and Nooj’s orbit. Not even when they first visited Guadosalam as a trio, turned away thankfully from the door by goons she could not recognise. She wanted to forget, but fate would not let her, and she adjusted the uniform to better cover her face.

This sphere better be worth it.


End file.
